


Balls Deep

by yeoltidecarol



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Creampie, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Public Sex, Sex in a McDondalds Play Place, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, dominating themes, indecent use of a mcdonalds play place, light gagging, mentions of cumplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 07:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeoltidecarol/pseuds/yeoltidecarol
Summary: While taking your class to lunch during a field trip, your husband suggests an indecent and amoral misuse of the McDonald’s playplace.





	Balls Deep

**Author's Note:**

> this work is entirely an act of fiction. if features subjects which may be triggering or uncomfortable to read, including but not limited to non-traditional and indecent sexual acts. please take the warnings seriously

Standing to the side of the eating area in Chicago’s largest McDonald’s, you cautiously eye the group of twenty first graders charged under your wing. They’ve scattered, as children are wont to do, spread throughout the restaurant floor, some eating, some chattering, and many playing. Looking at your watch, you see there’s still thirty minutes left to the scheduled lunch time, and let your gaze shift to the bus driver who eats alone, headphones tucked into her ears, enjoying her brief moment of peace.

This is not the first field trip you’ve chaperoned, however it is the first you’ve managed on your own, an undercurrent of pride making your chest swell. And it is this, perhaps, that exacerbates your anxiety considering there is something terribly, terribly _wrong_ with this journey.

A hand slips beneath the waistband of your trousers, cupping your ass with strong, confident fingers, arm discreetly hidden under your coat and ensuring no one can see. The hand in question belongs to the only person allowed to challenge you like this, in public, _at work_; your husband, the man who understands you are _always_ wanting him - _especially_ when confronted with risk, and especially when you absolutely should not be wanting him at all.

The hand, to be frank, doesn’t even belong on the field trip. And so, this hand is a problem.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ you mutter through pursed lips. ‘I could get in so much trouble for this.’ Keeping a smile plastered to your face for the sake of the children, your eyes glaze slightly as you peer across the room, looking without seeing, putting in effort to avoid looking at the exquisite body attached to the hand., even though your vision craves to be flooded with nothing but him.

‘You know deep down you’re ecstatic I’m here,’ Chanyeol singsongs sweetly, casting a coy glance at your profile.

In your peripheral, you watch him smile, wide and long and so breathtakingly charming, and feel yourself blush, cheeks flooding with warmth. You hate that he controls the blood beneath your skin, even after all this time, and even from the moment you first saw him. 

‘Yes, of course I’m happy,’ you sigh, turning to meet Chanyeol’s heated stare. ‘It’s just that you actually don’t have permission to be here and, oh hey, your _hand_ is down my pants. And while I do want this, -’ Chanyeol squeezes the plump flesh of your ass cheek, smirking as you fall slightly forward, eyes fluttering with a quiet inhale. 

Regaining your composure, you blink. ‘I’m not sure my students want to see the more private side of their teacher’s life.’

Momentarily believing you won the argument, you let yourself drown in Chanyeol’s eyes, luxuriating in the affection and adoration you find. Even behind his play, there’s an air of gentleness, one that wins over his irises, and lets your heart rate settle, readying for his hand to leave your skin.

But then, his lips into a wolfish grin, wide and impish and utterly feral, and all at once his sweetness dissipates.

‘Should I call you Miss Y/N, then?’ he beams, gifting your ass with another strong squeeze.

Stone faced, all your blood rushes to your toes, heart bottoming out in your cunt as adrenaline courses through your veins instead, betraying you. He knows you only like to be called Kitten in bed, and Miss when he's been particularly naughty.

‘You’re turning a field trip into a game of roleplay,' you mutter, words quick and voice low as you shake your head. 'This is exactly why you shouldn’t be here.’

‘That’s besides the point, bright star.’ Chanyeol moves closer, his shoulder nudging softly against yours and allowing the wind to carry his cologne through your open mouth, right onto your tongue. It drips, like honey, down your throat, warming everything it touches as you try to drink it down, realizing you are parched for him. ‘I’m right here, with you. Don’t I add a ray of sunshine to your otherwise bland day?’

Rolling your eyes, you try not to laugh. ‘I’m a little preoccupied, Chan. I’m working and - ohh, fuck what are you doing?’ 

You choke on a gasp as Chanyeol pushes his hand lower, deeper, sliding down through your underwear until his fingers toy gently with your folds, stroking idly with the barest of touches. You shiver, biting your lip to keep from making sound as your walls clench around nothing in anticipation. Mindlessly, your arm reaches for the tiled wall beside you, feeling the blood rush beneath your fingertips as your press against its coolness.

‘Just keep talking, baby,’ he whispers, voice low and full of gravel. He presses firmly against your slit with the flat of his hand, ensuring that his fingers do not slide in, teasing. ‘Stay calm. Don’t let anyone notice you, _Miss Y’N._’

There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, amusement and encouragement laced through the words, but your focus lands upon the weight and intention of his expression, the way he seems to burn before the long expanse of white snow just beyond the window, and all at once it hurts to breathe. Playfulness lives within the deep richness of his voice, but not in his eyes - heavy lidded and thick with desire. His tongue runs over his bottom lip, gaze cast downward at smooth expanse of your chest beneath your button up shirt. Chanyeol swallows thickly, brow furrowed with wanting, and he runs his index finger over your slit, lips twitching in a smile as he feels your wetness.

‘Chan,’ you whine, breathless as you struggle to find the right things to say. ‘I can’t think when you’re doing that, fuck me.’

Further excuses die on your lips, dissolving on contact with the heat of your tongue, your mouth, your skin, your lungs. It’s winter, winter in Chicago, and yet you are alight beside him, the thick wool of your coat suddenly too heavy for the temperature of his touch. Casting his eyes away from you and the dry, red part of your lips, his expression morphs into a smile of placid nonchalance as he slowly guides the tip of his middle finger into your core.

‘You don’t need to ask for it, baby,’ he teases, voice running over your skin, hot and heavy like melted chocolate.

Closing your eyes, you try to think of something, anything that is not his touch, his mouth, his hands, but come up empty. Attempting to maintain the slow, even pattern of your breath, you push your anticipation and craving for more aside, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your expression in check. 

‘Chan,’ you begin, gathering your strength. Opening your eyes, your vision is blurred, unfocused. ‘Not here. Are you really insinuating that you would fuck me? In a McDonald’s?’

He hums, a deep rumble of thunder that makes your bones quake as he bends to kiss against your ear. ‘I thought it was established a long time ago that I’d fuck you anywhere.’

'Jesus Christ,' you breathe, blood starting to feel like a live wire. ‘You really can’t say those things to me when I’m working.’

Chanyeol laughs quietly, a musical, erotic sound that cascades down your spine and spreads fire along your joints, forcing a rush of wetness to your core that builds exponentially, only to be swept and swirled by his finger. It’s a delicate touch, not nearly satisfying or deep enough to bring comfort or relief, purposely keeping you on edge and on the precipice of demanding more.

‘It’s just as…hard for me,’ he murmurs, lowering his lips to your earlobe. Tilting away momentarily, he pushes your hair over your shoulder with his free hand before placing a chaste kiss to the soft flesh. ‘I want you all the time; feels like I can’t breathe if I’m not buried inside you.’ He swallows, the slow exhale through his nose raising gooseflesh on your arms as it travels down your neck. ‘One look at you, and I get hard on sight. I want my mouth full of you, your cunt full of me,' he finishes with a kiss, biting at the lobe before pulling away.

Skin wet and meeting his breathe in an alluring breeze, a chill rushes over you, eyelids fluttering as a whimper escapes your chest. He's got you exactly where he wants you, teetering on the edge of desire as you lean closer and closer to his side.

Pressing a final kiss just below your ear, Chanyeol turns away. ‘What’s that big plastic thing over there?’ he asks, pointing to the large play area in the adjoining room.

‘The playplace?’ Your answer is nothing but air, a small exhale and a clipped enunciation which give away you are beginning to cave.

Sensing he's nearly won you over, he pushes his finger through your folds, up to the knuckle, and curls it, smirking as you cover your mouth to quietly release a moan. A chuckle reverberates within his chest, the baritone echo vibrating into your bones, as he offers a lingering kiss against your temple.

‘Let me fuck you in that.’

Raising your head to meet his gaze, you find the wild determination that has nestled at the corners of his lips. His cheeks are flushed, likely just as flushed as yours, breath coming heavily as his eyes cannot help but wander rather deliberately over your lips, having their fill of you. And still, his finger maintains its empty rhythm, promising more - something harder, something thicker, something deeper - and delivering none.

'Absolutely not,' you stammer, mind racing to formulate a coherent answer. 'That thing is crawling with germs.'

Chanyeol simply smiles, pushing his finger inside you to the hilt, slowly thrusting as he luxuriates in your wetness.

'Baby, you have a master's degree in education,' he counters, smirking as your head tips back to expose more of your neck. The heat of his breath washes over you, the fullness of his lips sucking at your exposed tendon. 'You can figure it out - lay down your coat, lay down _my_ coat. Don't you have cleansing wipes with you?'

As long as you've known him, his voice has been your addiction, a sound that burrows into your blood and rearranges the chambers of your heart. You're alive with him, alive with the sound of him, and your thighs begin to ache - wanting and wanting to be wrapped around his, heels pressing into his back, feeling him, full of him. Breathless, your mind struggles to hold onto the words he says, caught up in the way he sounds, in the way he rolls through you, in the way he's yours, and only manage to truly comprehend the last things he says.

'Cleansing wipes?' Your voice stumbles over speech, awkward and saddened to follow the music he kissed into you. 'In my laptop bag, yeah. Why?'

You don't get it - rather, you cannot get it, all of your focus paid to the way his finger rocks into you, the knuckles of his other fingers meeting your folds with his teasing thrusts, and the frustrating of yearning for more fogs your mind. Images flash behind your eyes: you, riding him with your shirt open and his mouth at your breasts; you, on your back as the plastic melts into your spine, the thrust of his cock hitting deep enough for you think it could hurt if you were any less trusting; you, come running down your thighs and nipples reddened from his teeth.

And then, after seeing the ways he wants you and could have you, you finally understand.

'No!' you exclaim, eyes suddenly wide as you rear back to face him. 'Do you know how badly that will burn?”

Chanyeol simply blinks, expression unmoved. Dropping his voice an octave, his eyebrow twitches in an effort to remain utterly, unabashedly serious. 'Do you know how badly I want to fuck you?'

The words shoot straight to the hot center of your core, wetting your folds and letting his finger slide in deeper with ease. Body beginning to tremble with need, you watch as Chanyeol's focus bores into your soul, demanding and unwavering and craving, as redness spreads over his own neck. You've seen that flush countless times in your life, the beginnings of a fire that will blaze into you until you are spent and sweating; a fire that cannot be satiated, and you know he means it. When he flushes like this, he is only idly holding the remnants of his control, boxed in by a thirst that burns you both to ash.

That flush means he's been needing you since you left, since you woke up and made love sweetly - just once - and you left him, wanting you again and again, distraught and lonely and going hungry.

'Get me to the fucking play place,' you insist. 'Right now.'

A keening whine erupts from his throat, expression crumbling from one of pained concentration to one of adoration, passion, and longing. 'Happily.'

Chanyeol pulls his hand from your core slowly, taking his time so he does not hurt you, and ensuring you feel every movement of his hand. Hissing, your fingers ball into a fist against the tile and you keep your eyes on him, watching as he lifts his finger to his lips. Time seems to stand still as he runs the pad of his finger over his bottom lip, letting your juices create a glossy sheen over the plump flesh before he takes it into his mouth, eyes rolling slightly back as he drinks you off his skin.

'That's my goddess,' he says, tongue gliding over his lip to take the last of you down. 'Always so sweet for me.'

Transfixed by the movement of his mouth and tongue, you simply reach for his hand and guide him towards the play place, letting the wetness of his finger ground you in the moment. Coming to the entrance, you pause, Chanyeol bumping into you softly from the force of his eager steps, and watch as numerous children - some your students, some the children of other patrons - slide down into the ball-pit and eagerly crawl through the tubes at every level.

'I knew this was a terrible idea,' you mutter under your breath, gripping Chanyeol's hand tighter. Casing a narrowed gaze at your husband, you cock and eyebrow, expectant. 'How do you presume we get everyone out of there?'

Smirking, he rolls his eyes as he releases your hand. 'Are you or are you not an authority figure?'

Moving to the center of the room, Chanyeol claps his hands loudly several times, getting everyone's attention. 'Children!' he yells, not noticing the way some of the kids wince at his volume. 'Your teacher and I need to do a brief safety check of the play...thing. Go sit by the tables for 10 minutes while we check for....broken things and harmful objects.'

'Who are you, sir? A small seven year old from your class, Seo-Jun, comes to stand next to Chanyeol, tugging gently on the hem of his coat. He cranes his head upwards to see Chanyeol, seemingly unfazed by his height.

Painting a serene smile on his face, Chanyeol knees to meet the boy's eyes. 'I’m the music teacher, Mr. Argue,' Chanyeol explains, and you find yourself covering your mouth to stifle a laugh.

'But I’ve never seen you before,' Seo-Jun says, cocking his head to the side as he inspects Chanyeol's features, curious.

Without hesitation, Chanyeol places his hand on the boy's shoulder and turns him, rising to a stand. Then you obviously don’t come to class enough. Go sit. Safety first'

Seo-Jun hums as he walks away, considering Chanyeol and turning back to glance at him as he is joined by a friend, a smaller girl you recognize as Eun-Ha. She too casts brief looks at Chanyeol, lips pulled into a smile as she whispers to Seo-Jun skeptical of his presence. The rest of the children move without question, parents and other patrons herding their children away, eyes narrowed and wary of your presence.

Proud, Chanyeol returns to your side and takes your hand, leading you towards the entrance to the play place.

‘Excellent job, baby,' you praise with a giggle, 'But Seo-Jun is seven. He has no choice but to go to class with everyone else. They go together as a class at the same time every day.'

'I don’t know how this works,' Chanyeol huffs, though is fueled enough by his wanting that he does not pout. 'He’s sitting, isn’t he?'

Chuckling at his cheeky grin, you pause at a tubular entrance, studying the construct with a keen eye. There are three tubes that function as both an entrance and exit, a slide into a ball pit, a rope to climb, and a wall with foot straps that leads directly to a red square just below the center; within the construct, there is a ladder that leads into a further ball pit, and a tunnel that leads to a trampoline off to the side. The play place itself stretches upwards to the ceiling, and, while you are sure such physical tests of motor skills are easy to manage, as you scan the sizes of all the tubes you struggle to imagine how Chanyeol will fit inside with you.

'My love,' you begin, hearing Chanyeol release a noise of acknowledgement at your side. He steps closer, wanting to be as near as possible, mind racing as he formulates a strategy. 'How do you suppose you will fit inside this? That _we_ will fit inside this?'

He shrugs, nonchalant. 'I’ve been practicing yoga lately. I’ve become quite the flexible man.'

'Brilliant,' you counter. 'So why don’t you just fuck yourself?' Turning to face him with a wide smile, you snort at his minutely scandalized expression, waiting for him to whine in distress.

Instead, he lets himself get close, as close as he was before, lips moving against your ear. 'Because,' he purrs, nose gently guiding your head to the side to make room for him, 'your cunt is the sweetest thing I’ve ever been inside. And nothing, and no one,' he continues, biting your earlobe gently enough to feel small pressure, 'will ever keep me from hearing you cry my name as you come.'

Your hand reaches for his arm, steadying yourself as your core clenches around nothing once more, nerves driven to the brink of desire. His arm wraps possessively around your waist, pulling you to his side, heart and mind aware of your faltering strength.

'Now,' he carries on, voice a little louder than he intends, propelled by his eagerness. 'I’ve thought about this. If I go in first and you follow after, there’s that big purple box up there.' Chanyeol points to a long rectangular box with a small window, high above the floor, in the center of the plastic fort. 'It’s big enough to fit two people. And besides, how else are parents supposed to get their kids, right? Adults are meant to fit in this for that reason alone.'

Considering his words for a few seconds, you find yourself agreeing with him. The rectangle _is_ large enough to fit you both, and neither of you have ever been the type to back down from a challenge. Briefly, you recall the sweltering green plastic of a porta-loo at Lollapalooza, a 11AM fucking that could only happen when the porta-loo was clean and untouched. It put the sweat on your brow and neck, the smell of it lingering in your nostrils for hours, but the smile, and the satisfaction, lasted for days.

Running your hand through your hair, you sigh, regarding the play place with a sheepish smile. 'I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.'

Satisfied, with you and with himself, Chanyeol grabs your hand and squeezes it, a low exclamation of delight rolling through him as he gifts your cheek with a kiss. 'I shall never say you don’t love me.'

Your body tilts into his, pressing your cheek against his lips, luxuriating in the softness as your as flutter closed. He showers you in moments of affection like this always, hand reaching for yours and lips just as eager for a smooth expanse of your skin. Being parted, regardless of the length of time, hurts, blood and body addicted to one another, relieved only when you are close and savoring the contact.

He kisses your cheek three times like this, nose running along your cheekbone in ardor, breath catching in his lungs as he takes in the smell of your perfume.

'Thank you,' he murmurs, lips moving against your skin. 'For wanting me.'

Pulling away from him, you swallow thickly, looking down at your feet and letting a wave of longing glide along your nerves. Wetness pools at your core once more, and you can feel a patch of slick growing on your underwear.

Lifting your arm, you gesture vaguely at the playplace. 'Get on with it, then.'

Nodding enthusiastically, Chanyeol discards his jacket, folding it neatly before placing it at your feet with a grin. Adoration pools in his irises, and you feel yourself begin to drown before he moves, getting on all fours with an eagerness you find to be adorably childlike. With a shake of his bum, Chanyeol makes for the green tube, quickly negotiating his entrance as though he had come prepared for an excursion like this. Once inside the tube, the echoes of his clambering reach your ears, and you rest the back of your hand against your lips, chuckling to yourself as you hear the banging of his large feet carrying him, messily, through the tube.

'Yoga paying off then?' you call with a giggle, listening for sounds that give away his location.

'Fuck off.' Chanyeol's voice carries slowly, muffled by the thick plastic that separates you from him.

'What am I supposed to say if you get stuck in there?'

You smile widens when your only response is a muffled hum of exasperation, the sounds of his struggle falling quiet. Even without him beside you, the tension in the atmosphere continues to linger, heightened by the silence and the shift in humor. His focus on achieving his goal is palpable, seeping through the play place and quickening the speed of your blood through your heart. Always, he is like this, committed to winning only slightly less than he is committed to you, and when the two collide, there are few things that could ease him out of such an intense state of wanting.

Bending to pick up his coat, you press your face to the wool, letting your eyes fall closed as his cologne makes your lungs burn. Just the scent of him makes you salivate, the softness of the fabric ticking your cheeks and raising a phantom touch of his fingers, memories of all the times he's cupped your face as he kissed you, held your face in his hands as he rocked into you, thumbs wiping tears from your eyes the night he proposed, after your first fight, after he told you he loved you.

His hands have been all over you, and still you feel him, always, wanting him just as much as the first time he looked you in the eyes, ears red and mouth dry, telling you he wouldn't be able to sleep if you went another night knowing how badly he needed you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of light tapping, a rhythmic pulsing from somewhere in the fort, and you raise your head, smirking, expecting to hear his needy plea for help within a tube. Instead, you find your husband within the purple rectangle, peeking out the small window, beaming and waving, pressing his hand and forehead to the plastic, silently begging you to join him.

'Would you look at that,' you mutter. 'Looks like we'll be using my coat, then.'

Dropping his coat back to the floor, you regard the tube skeptically before sighing, getting on your hands and knees to mimic Chanyeol's approach. After a few moments of awkward, uncoordinated crawling, you emerge from the end of the tube, finding yourself at a fork. The route to your right appears much smaller, enough that you would have to crawl on your stomach to make through entirely, and cannot fathom how Chanyeol would have fit his legs through the corners. Heading left, you crawl until you find yourself at a thin, narrow ladder leading up to the red cube below the purple one.

With an exasperated sigh, you pull yourself out of the small space, navigating carefully, so you can get on the ladder without slipping.

'Chan, how the fuck do I get up this without breaking things?' you ask, looking around and feeling certain this ladder will not hold your weight.

'I dunno,' Chanyeol's voice comes, distant yet remarkably close, echoing around you through the tunnels. ‘Climb.’

'Fucking...climb where,' you mutter, hoping for a different ladder to be mentioned.

'I went up the wall grip,' Chanyeol says matter of factly, assuming you and everyone else you have met in your life knows exactly what he is referencing. 

'Helpful.'

You begin climbing the ladder, slowly placing your shoes on each rung and pausing so that you don't slip, hoping that the ladder doesn't tip back. The yellow metal is slippery, and with each grasp you sneer, hoping it's just because your hands are clammy, that the heat from desire has mixed with the heating of the building and the heat that has gathered in the play place, making everything feel damp.

'How’s it going, precious? Where are you?' Chanyeol’s voice calls, encouraging and excited.

'I’m climbing the ladder of death,' you manage, reaching the top and seeing a tilted entrance to the red square.

Narrowing your eyes, you look down to your feet, keeping aware of the heel of your shoes as you coordinate flattening yourself enough to push yourself both off the ladder and up into the square.

Chanyeol's laugh ripples through the tubes, a symphony that makes you grip the plastic landing with fervor. 'I’m fairly certain you’re making that sound far more exciting than it actually is.'

'Children are meant to climb this, Chanyeol.' Pushing yourself up into the red square, you let yourself be led by the sound of his voice. 'Not grown adults.'

'How did you even get there?' he asks, though he does not pause for your answer. 'You must have gone the wrong way.'

Emerging into the purple rectangle, you cock and eyebrow at him as he beams, scrambling to take your hands and helping you inside. 'I didn't know there was a map for fucking.'

Pulling you into the center of the rectangle, Chanyeol's smile morphs from one of an amused grin to one of profound affection, irises swimming with a heady combination of want and need and unprecedented devotion. He lets himself have his fill of you as you settle, his penetrating stare raising the temperature several degrees just by its intensity. Moving your hair from your face, he lets his fingers card through the strands, his expression softening. 

'You made it,' he praises, forehead dropping to yours before pressing a kiss to your nose.

Inching closer, you relish the way he never fails to create a cocktail of almost painful arousal and blood deep longing that burns, not unlike a star, between you as you fall heart first into one another. Letting your foreheads touch and breaths become shared for several moments, luxuriating in the act of breathing and existing together, you feel a wave of desire course through your veins as he hums, lost in pleasure and becoming carried away with the totality of you. Shaking your head, you pull back, settling on the floor as your cross your legs, looking from side to side with a grin.

'This is...cozy,' you tease, cocking your head to the side playfully.

Chuckling, Chanyeol pushes back to settle on his legs, rotating so his back rests against the wall, creating enough space for his long limbs to extend in front of him. He enthusiastically spreads his arms, inviting and welcoming you to him, and you eagerly comply, moving to his side to sling one leg over his lap, settling on, and against, him with a contented sigh.

Delicately cupping his face in your hands, you let your fingers stroke over the shell of his ears and lean forward to capture his lips in a kiss, corner of your mouth curling into a satisfied smile as he releases a small, relieved moan. His hands grip your hips beneath your coat, pressing you roughly down against his groin as he rolls up into you slowly, gently, enacting a promise of what's to come. Licking at his lips, he opens for you, tongues touching and gliding, your hands shifting to the base of his neck, fisting in his hair and massaging his scalp in encouragement.

Breaking the kiss, his head falls back, mouth open and panting as he struggles to catch his breath, lips red and wet, eyes dark from the dilation of his pupils.

'Better?' he asks with an impish smirk, a gruff sound that barrels through you, pooling in your belly.

'Tons.'

Claiming his lips once more, you try to keep the kiss chaste, hoping to tease the edges of his control as you move down to his jaw, his thumbs rubbing hard circles into your hips through your pants. But his hands move swiftly, sensing you're ready to pull away, and he places one hand firmly on the back of your neck, keeping you in place, deepening the kiss as he rolls up into your center once more. Through his pants, you feel the hardness of his cock beginning to form, the pressure against your core, even through layers of clothes enough to send a choked breath tumbling into his waiting mouth.

Running his tongue along your bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth, he lets his hands slip away from your neck, reassured he has you where he wants you, and lets his fingers nestle beneath the collar of your shirt. It’s a featherlight touch, the tickle of him against a soft, rarely touched and barely seen part of you sending a pool of anticipation and wetness to your folds, and you feel how slick you have become as you move against him.

Hands still gripping his hair, you tug him back, breaking the kiss as you grind down into his lap, transfixed by the way his brow furrows, eyes locked on yours and tongue coming to lick his lips before he bits the flesh in wanting. Repeating the action, you grind into him and his head falls forward onto your shoulder, body wired and hands needy, his level of arousal given away by the slow dry thrust he offers to your core.

'Tell me this wasn’t a good idea,' Chanyeol moans into your neck, lips moving against your skin as he speaks. 

With a growl of possessiveness, he places a wet kiss at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His hands push the collar of your shirt aside, forcibly enough the button at your breasts slips open, and attaches his lips to the skin before he nips at you, teeth ghosting over the places his tongue so deftly heats. Clutching at him, your hands leave his hair to press your fingers into the muscle of his broad shoulders, shuddering through a current of arousal as your head tips back, opening to him, offering and giving yourself over to his heart, his mouth, his soul. 

Enticed, Chanyeol takes a hand away from your hip, smiling as you whine at the loss of contact, and cradles the back of your head against his palm. Nuzzling against the center of your throat, he mumbles a low curse before biting at the tendon, sending fire into your veins and making you grind deeply against his lap, aching to hold him inside you. 

‘It was an awful idea,’ you whimper, tugging at his hair once more to move his face away. Gliding your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, you grip his hands and guide them to the buttons of your shirt. ‘But I need you, and I don’t really care where or how it happens. I just need you to hurry up.’

He releases a breathy laugh, large fingers struggling to undo the small buttons of your shirt without requiring further encouragement. ‘We’ll have to keep quiet, baby,’ he reminds you with an unsteady tone, ears turning an adorable shade of crimson as your shirt falls off your shoulders and down your arms. With your breasts exposed, you watch as he swallows, rolling up into your core as he kisses at your chest. ‘Think you can manage that?’

Bringing your hands to his neck, you slide them down to his tie, tugging at the Windsor knot with vigor as you smile. 

‘Can you?’ you counter. ‘Or will we have to use this?’

Using two fingers you push his face gently away from your chest, showing him the end of his tie. Years together and still be blushes at the sight of you, spine and body and mind wound to a coil at the knowledge you are his, no one else’s, and the very thought always sends his voice to an octave of possession that makes your bones rattle. Truthfully, you are both vocal, but his voice hits like thunder, juts against your skin and burrows into your pores with the same earnestness as he buries himself into you, keeping you full and keeping the world on edge, knowing you are his, you are his, _you are his,_ and he absolutely will never let you go.

Nostrils flaring at the thought of either you or he, or both of you, so caught up in lust and loving that you crave one another’s names into your skin from the volume of having and taking that a gag is required, he pulls his hands from your body. Brow turning severe and demanding, he juts his chin forward and lowers his voice, stepping into a place of authority.

‘Bra off. Undress yourself for me,’ he commands, undoing the rest of the knot.

With wide eyed obedience, you bring your arms back to the clasp of your bra, unlatching it and wishing the silk of your fingers was the rough callous of fingertips, aching for the heaviness of his touch. It falls away from you the same moment his tie slithers from his neck and into the space between your bodies. Sweat builds at your hairline and the base of your neck, settling into grooves you did not know you contained until he roused the full length of your being, skin slick with a craving for his body on yours that borders precariously on greed. 

Enthralled by the harsh rise and fall of his chest, you kiss sweetly at his lips, nipples hardened by a yearning for his palms against the sensitive nerves. And it hits you, amidst the voraciousness of your appetite and the endless stretch of utter reverence your heart carries for him, that this kind of wanting has thrown you both off your axis, delivered you to the brink of a risk that carries a dangerous consequence.

Stomach dropping, you let the anxiety coat your throat as you speak. ‘Chan.’ Your hands come to hold his, halting his motions of unbuttoning his shirt, steadying his movements.

Immediately, he stops, gaze full of concern and scans your body for hurt or marks or a reason he should stop. Always, this is his gut reaction to a hint of sadness or worry in your voice - a soulbound promise to ensure your wellbeing, and ensure he loves you back into the sun.

Gliding his hand over your cheek, fingers moving into your hair as he strokes the strands, his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you as close to his chest as he can. ‘What is it, baby?’

Softening at his concern, your own hand rests against his cheek, breath catching in your chest with a mild ache as he leans into your touch. ‘We do shit like this all the time, but...now, I could lose my job.’

Nodding, he catches your lips and searing kiss, pouring his encouragement and understanding into your blood. You drink it down, hoping that this kind of affection will give you wings, will provide you the confidence to be young and free and wholly alive, and in love, in the arms of the man who taught you to be brave. But still, he gives you an out, refusing to push you to a limit you aren’t ready to take.

‘We don’t have to, baby,’ he affirms, breaking the kiss and regarding you with a conviction that makes your mouth run dry. ‘Not if you don’t want it.’

Shaking your head, you pull his hand from your hair, twining your fingers together in reassurance. ‘I do. You know I do.’ He lifts your clasped hands to his mouth, dropping a kiss against your knuckles. Overwhelmed by the kindness he radiates, you offer him a tender smile, even when half-hard and longing to be buried between your thighs. ‘But there’s a window right there. What if someone sees?’

Chanyeol's gaze shifts away from your face, settling behind you to regard the small clear circle. He pauses briefly, mind racing and thoughts loud enough you can almost hear them, before he breaks into a wide grin, releasing his hand to guide your hips up and away from his lap. Abruptly, he flips you, swiftly moving his hand to your mouth to muffle your exclamation of shock and squeezes your hip in warning. Now, with you resting on all fours he curls over your back, planting a wet kiss to the center of your spine, easing your bodies forward until your face rests directly in the center of the window. 

‘Then you’ll have you keep watch.' 

You can hear the smirk in his voice, the blissed out honey cadence he adopts when he gets to be the one in control, leading your fucking with a confidence that makes your thighs clench, inner walls gripping at a hollow sense of nothingness.

From this angle you can just make out the edges of the tables, will see the moment anyone approaches the play place and can alert Chanyeol to stop. But still, you are reminded of the risk of someone approaching, the heat of anxiety urging you along to finish, and to finish silently, with Chanyeol’s hands and skin all over you.

And you'd protest this angle, would remind him that this is wrong and unprofessional and illegal, if you did not want him just as violently, too, since you left him in the morning. You came, loudly and into the smooth angle of his shoulder, clutching at his arms with enough pressure to tear straight through to the bone, but still you wanted him. You got out of bed, naked and sweating and trembling, and still you wanted him. You got dressed, covered your sensitive groin with underwear that moistened on contact, and still you wanted him.

This, of course, was his tactic. To remind you there are many other ways to be seen, and to be had, and he would always find his way to drink his fill of you, choosing the most isolated approach to assure your body in pleasure was for his eyes only. Taming you, his universe, for all the world to see if only they would look up.

Rutting against your ass with a shallow grunt, the pad of his index finger runs over your bottom lip, tracing the flesh with a roughness that makes blood rush beneath the skin. 

'Why didn't you wear a skirt today?' he laments, dipping his finger into your open mouth. Closing around it, you suck at the digit, eyes falling closed as you imagine your mouth full, wrapped around his cock with your head held firmly in place. His voice breaks, stumbling over his words before he can properly gather them. 'Would have been so much faster to get inside you.'

Pulling his finger from your lips with a soft pop, his hands move to the button of your trousers, thumbing it open and undoing the zipper as his other slips beneath the waistband of your underwear. He grips the band of your pants firmly, ready to tug them down at a moments notice, but instead lets two fingers trace the wetness that has smeared over your folds, gliding them aong your slit without letting them push inside. Biting your lip, you press your ass back against his hips, feeling the full force of his erection at this angle, and shiver, wanting to be full twice over. 

'I could have looked you in the eye when you come around me,' he continues through grit teeth, meeting your ass with a thrust that makes him hiss. 'Gasping like you always do for me to fill you up.'

His hand leaves you, slipping up and away from a core that makes you whine in displeasure. Behind you, Chanyeol chuckles at the sound, a dark laugh that tumbles down your back in an avalanche. Guiding your pants over and down your ass, he pushes them down to your knees, walking his hands up your legs before scratching at the sensitive skin where your thighs meet your groin. Lowering your chin to your chest, you exhale silently, nails digging into the plastic to keep yourself quiet. 

'When I saw you put these on this morning,' he says, snapping the band of your underwear, 'I immediately wanted to take them off.'

Silently, you curse, the atmosphere becoming thick and heady. All of your body feels dampened by him, cunt and pores dripping with want for him, saliva wetting your parted lips and pussy aching to be soaked full of him. He lets both hands slide over your stomach, pausing his ministrations, pulling your back into an arch against his chest, and demanding that you listen. Raising your head, you look back out the window, vision unfocused and note the way life seems to continue, mundane and dull, not fifty feet below.

'You expected me to just let you walk away from me.’ Mouth against your ear, he licks at the shell, moving his hands up slowly to cup your breasts, massaging the supple flesh . 'My come still dripping down your legs, staining you so pretty.'

Clenching around nothing at the rich chocolate of his voice, you release a wet moan, rolling your shoulders forward slightly to put more of your breasts in his hands. 'Chan, please.'

'What do you want, kitten?' he whispers, sounding so sweet, so docile, so utterly, unbelievably dangerous. 

'Your fingers,’ you try, pushing back against his groin. Lifting one hand, you reach back, hoping to palm against his cock, but he removes his hand from your chest, grabbing your wrist to press it back to the floor. With a soft whimper of defeat, you try again ‘Want your cock inside me. Please, anything.'

He hums, considering your words and releasing your wrist to settle between your legs. Sliding the line of your underwear to the side, the pressure against your folds making you sigh, he swirls two fingers over your cunt. The sound of your wetness seems to echo in the plastic cube, though you know it’s just your heightened senses making everything - everything about his touch, his breath, and the almost painful emptiness of your inner walls - resonate. 

'Do you know what I wanted this morning?' he asks, voice low as he presses the tips of his fingers inside you.

Whelmed by the sudden something moving inside you, you simply shake your head, luxuriating in the sensation of his skin and bony knuckles as they spread you delicately before moving further into inside, to the second knuckle. 

'Words, kitten. Use them,’ he commands. ‘Or do you want me to spank you? Remind you what happens when you disobey?'

Removing his other hand from your breast, he slides the fullness of his palm down your spine before lifting it, delivering a light slap at the same moment he lets his fingers push deep inside you to the hilt. 

A moan builds in your chest, threatening to splinter the cage bones before you catch it, choking on the sound.

Swallowing thickly, you inhale deeply, letting the oxygen burn before you speak. 'What did you want?'

He sets a slow rhythm with his fingers, spreading them with every other outward thrust to prepare you. The bones in his knuckles tease you, and you clench around his hand, desperate to hold him inside.

'I wanted to fuck my come back into you,’ he bites you, ‘add more to it before I spread it over your chest. Maybe even come on your tongue.'

Chanyeol adds a third finger, speeding up the rhythm and lets his other hand fall back on the soft flesh of your ass, spanking you harder this time over your underwear. Moaning, you squeeze your eyes shut, wiggling back into his palm as he massages the area before he reaches for the band, pulling your underwear down and letting the curve of your cheeks keep the band in place. 

‘You felt how much I wanted you too,’ he chastises. ‘Felt my dick against your hip and you got up, gave me a full view of this ass like I wouldn’t want another bite.’

Again, he lifts his hand, creating a slight breeze in the air that makes the wetness at your clit and thighs tingle. This time, his spank is hard, a crack that seems to detonate around the plastic. A soft cry is wrenched from your lips, legs starting to tremble as you lift the back of your hand to your mouth, muffling your exclamation of pain and pleasure. 

Noticing your weakening resolve, Chanyeol stops the soothing rub of your skin prematurely, letting the sting of his palm burn into the flesh as he blindly sends his hand seeking. It’s not a deep hurt, certainly nothing compared to the times he’s slapped your ass red, punished you for the way you called him at work and talked him to a painful erection; the way you wrapped your lips around his cock and sucked him to the edge only to walk away, going back to dinner with his parents; the way you wore silk to his office’s holiday dinner, and sat far away from him all night, spreading your legs wide to reveal your lack of underwear every time he walked by. 

No, this sting is positively placid compared to the times he’s ensured you would not sit without remembering his hand, but it aches just the same, tightening the muscles in the base of your spine and suddenly making you painfully aware of your neglected clit.

Chanyeol releases a soft noise of satisfaction before bringing his hand to your face, fist full of his tie.

'Open up,’ he commands. ‘You’ll have to bite down on this to keep yourself quiet.’

Obediently, you open your mouth, letting him gently push the fabric inside, the bulge of the base tucked against your tongue and ensuring it does not come apart.

‘Can you breathe, baby?’ Chanyeol softly takes your chin and turns your head toward his leaning, over you to make sure you are safe. ‘Comfortable? Let me know if it’s too much.’

Eyes locked on his, studying the deep black of his pupils, full of lust and longing and concern, you nod, thinking this kind of affection would be sweet if he did not curl his fingers at the first sign of your approval, grazing the sweet spot inside you with practiced diligence. Immediately, your eyes blow wide, biting down on the tie and letting it muffle the exclamation of ecstasy he rips from you.

And all at once, his hands on you disappear, leaving you alone and slipping from your center with a speed that makes your head look frantically back to his, seeking an answer.

'Play with yourself,’ he mutters before slipping his fingers into his mouth and sucking your juices from them. His eyes roll back briefly, tongue peeking out to lap the spaces in between. ‘I need to undo these and I don't have much room.'

The pun of his reference to the space inside the cube and the lack of room within his trousers makes you smile, but only momentarily. Wiping a hand on your leg, hoping the traces of sweat that have built along your skin will clean some part of you fingers and knowing, with lament, that it will only aid in ensuring they become more sticky, you lightly toy with your clit. The relief you had hoped for does not come, and you know, without a shadow of a doubt this was his plan. 

You would never touch yourself as forcibly as you craved, always hyper aware of the germs children carry, the germs of public spaces, thrilled by the risk and disgusted by the consequence, trapping yourself in your own tug of war that kept you on edge and waiting for him to push you. 

Chanyeol wastes no time in undoing the button and fly of his trousers, already too far gone in his own wanting to delay his pleasure. He’d wanted you since morning, wanted you since he decided to come to you, wanted you before he’d stepped inside the restaurant, and now that he has you as he wants you, there is little control left within his veins to cool his blood. He tugs his pants and briefs down in one swift motion, the length of his erection springing free and standing tall. 

Gripping it steadily with his hand, he settles back behind you, kissing your ear, your cheek, your neck as he places his knees comfortably between yours. 

‘Hands and knees, kitten,’ he says gently, biting the juncture of your neck and shoulder hard enough for it to bruise. ‘Make sure no one sees.’ 

With your hands in place and your forehead lulling enough to rest against the window, Chanyeol guides the tip of his cock to your center. Your eyes flutter closed as you feel the come and go of his hand as he pumps himself, taking the wetness from your thighs and folds, spreading it over his length. 

‘I can slip right inside,’ he murmurs to himself. ‘You get so wet for me. I’m so lucky to have a pussy made of velvet.’

And with that, he pushes himself slowly inside, gripping your hips to keep you both steady. 

Grateful for the tie in your mouth, you moan at the feeling of being spread so full, whining desperately as he rolls his hips, delivering himself to your center and burying his cock inside you to the hilt. Without hesitation, Chanyeol pulls his hips back with an agile snap, only to come forward again, the bones of his hips smacking into yours and making you slip forward. He sets a punishing rhythm, fingers pressing into your flesh hard enough for you to know you will be carrying his marks - the indentation of his teeth on your shoulder turning a soft shade of lavender, the dots of his fingers surely deep enough to adorn a regal shade of blue, and the sweet red of the hickeys he kissed onto your neck blooming not unlike the petals of flowers.

The hot steel of his member scorches you, sends your heart beating into your throat, the rush of your blood flooding your ears as your tongue throbs in time with your pulse. Already, you feel yourself clenching around him, wanting him deeper, wanting him harder, wanting him everywhere, and know that you will not lost. In public, you rarely do, given over to the raw intensity of lust, scorched thin and turned to ash before either of you moves within the other. 

Chanyeol bends down against your back, dropping his teeth to the indents he had created without applying any pressure, grunting against your skin and licking aimlessly with his tongue as he thrusts into you. The wet sounds of your fucking fill the cube, and the thought crosses your mind briefly that such a vigorous rhythm will surely give you away, but it bleeds away, burned by the press of his tip against your spot. It’s hard to focus on much other than this, the pound of his hips against yours, the almost painful way your skin presses into the plastic - marked by something other than his touch - and the way the intoxicating aroma of his musk has started to temper the atmosphere. You smell him, deep down into your lungs, and you choke on him, crying out into the tie and wishing it was his mouth swallowing your voice whole. 

‘You’re so pretty when you’re like this,’ he mutters, lifting his mouth from your shoulder and pressing it to your ear. ‘Stuffed full of me and wanting more.’

Clenching around his cock, you reach weakly behind you, grappling for his hip to scratch a long line against the skin. The most sensitive part of him, his sides, was always your crutch, a method of regaining an element of power when he had you this way, but once again, he grabs your wrist and presses it back to the ground, rolling into you slowly before pulling out, leaving just his tip inside you.

‘Stay still,’ he threatens, rolling his hips in figure-eights. ‘You know how we both get when I let you touch me.’ He eases his cock back inside you, offering you shallow, tantalizing thrusts. The tease makes your thighs shake. ‘I’ll scream your name tonight, when you’re the only one who can hear me beg for you.’

You can’t answer, violently torn between shaking your head no and nodding your head yes. With his head thrown back in bliss, Chanyeol yells your name like a prayer, and you wish everyone could hear it - that everyone would know the music in his soul, the enduring cry of pleasure is yours. But instead, you scratch along the plastic, rocking your ass back against his cock, hoping to take him deeper. 

‘I’m going to make you come,’ he says, speeding up his thrusts once more as his hand ghosts over your arm, down your stomach, before pressing gently on your mound. ‘I’m going to make you come and I want to feel it.’

With that, he resumes unforgiving rhythm of his thrusts, his fingers diving down over your cunt to tap in time against your clit. The shock of firm, precise pleasure against the swollen bundle of nerves makes your walls clench erratically, your ass thrusting back against his hips messily, desperate in your uncoordinated attempt to reach the climax you can feel building in your belly and thighs. Eyes starting to water, your vision blurs, breath coming in strained huffs as he alternates taps and swirls of his finger in time with his thrusts. 

‘That’s it, kitten,’ he cooes, his own thrusts losing their rhythm as he nears his orgasm. ‘Come all over my cock. Let me fill this pussy up. And be quiet about it.’ 

Inside and around you, he is relentless, leading you over the edge before offering a final push, pressing roughly against your clit as he hits your spot. Muffled, your tongue licks at the tie as you struggle to yell his name, clenching around his cock as your back arches, orgasm making the blood in your veins feel like wildfire. The coil in your belly releases in waves, rolling down and through your skin in a torrent that makes your nerves ache. You feel him, all of him - deep inside you as you tremble around him; against your skin, his chest slick and his mouth wet, his own whines sadly tucked away inside his throat; within your bones, rocking the structure of your marrow into something that carries nothing but the kiss of his name. 

Chanyeol is a sensory overload, the totality of him making you throb through your orgasm, vision hazed by white and pussy dripping over him, the wet squelch of your release making the cube sound as though it’s starting to sweat. 

His thrusts gain momentum as the aftershocks of your orgasm pushes your nerves into oversensitivity, though they are hardly coordinated. Against your legs, his thighs begin to shake, trembling with the oncoming storm of his own releases. With a few thrusts, his hand moves away from your clit to grip your hips, his head falling into the base of your neck as he comes, hot and wet inside you, the warmth of his release coating your walls and mixing with your own juices. 

He stills against you, both of you shaking together, rocked by the force of want and coming down from the raw tempest of yearning you both keep locked away, as best you can. Slowly, his fingers release your hips, rubbing soft, gentle circles over the bruises in apology as his lips give shape to barely audible whispers.

‘I love you,’ he mutters to himself, blissed out and unwilling to find reality. ‘I love you, I love you, you’re everything, my heart.’

Smiling to yourself, you bow your head and spit out the tie, squinting as your eyes burn with sweat and tears. Your limbs are unsteady, bones feeling not unlike gel and ready to give out at a moments notice. Reaching over your shoulder, your fingers graze at his hair, carding through the strands to stroke him back to you, back to the pillar of control you need to help you come down.

Slowly, he comes back to himself with a tiny whine, kissing up your spine as he gently eases his softening cock from your core. Whimpering in discomfort, you let your arms give out beneath you, only to find Chanyeol’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest as he holds you close. Turning to face him, you nuzzle into his neck, reminding yourself you cannot fall asleep - you absolutely cannot fall asleep - even though you so desperately want to you. 

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, kissing your forehead as he smooths your hair from your face.

‘I’m fine,’ you croak, throat dry from lack of use and the strain of being gagged. ‘I’ll need a bottle of water, though.’ 

For a few seconds, you let yourself be held, glad for the privacy and glad for the protective strength in his arms as he holds you. Eventually, you hear the distant murmurs of children just beyond the play place, adrenaline becoming replaced with anxiety.

‘How do you suppose we get out of here?’ you ask, eyes popping open as you peer at him. ‘I’m not strong enough to go back down that ladder.’

Chanyeol chuckles, kissing you deeply before winking.

‘I thought about that, too,’ he says with a smirk.

‘Oh, no,’ you groan, having already seen where his thoughts have lead you.

‘There’s a slide right here that leads to a ball pit,’ he advises, utterly sure of himself. 

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you match his smirk with a teasing pull of your lips. ‘Was the whole point of this excursion one long pun?’

He blushes, smiling playfully. ‘Maybe.’


End file.
